


green daffodils

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Growing Up, pre 1.0, pre warrior of light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: He was born as Kael. Of the I tribe.





	green daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> contains allusion to events mentioned in _flowing fast_ and, more specifically, _the back of the story_.

She knows, somewhere deep in her heart, that this will be her last child. She knows, as she cradles the newborn to her breast, staring back at peaceful, soft green eyes that nearly mirror her own, that after this, she will not mother any more. She cannot. Already, her boys are drifting, turning to harshness and cruelty. She wants to shield them—to _protect_ them, but they are not hers, not really. They were torn from her before she had the opportunity to raise them.

I’jela will not let this one leave her side.

~*~

Her child likes soft, precious things. A new blanket soothes any crying, an infant hand tangling in her hair draws out coos of wonder. Soon the coos turn into words, and even though “Mamae” is high and soft, even though yellow daffodils make their way into her hair rather than fistfuls of sand, her child looks around in confusion when the tribal shaman asks for the little girl in line to step forward.

I’jela pieces together a few strands of missing magic from her child’s birth, then. Her little Kael. He is still whole, to her; she tells him so. He chirps at her, and tries to put a daffodil in her hair.

~*~

“Kael.” I’jela is trying not to sound frustrated with him. It is not hard; his innocently wide eyes and curiously cocked ears make it clear he has no idea what he has done wrong. “You cannot simply… ask random strangers for candy, yeah?”

“Why?” he pipes up, squeezing his shaggy little spriggan toy. “Bunny,” I’jela remembers ridiculously, even though it is not.

“It is dangerous,” she explains gently, stroking his face with her hand. He beams at her sweetly, and she cannot help but smile. “You do not know them, and they might hurt you.”

Kael tilts his head. “They don’t hurt me!” he exclaims, fully confident in his own limited experience. “The nice man gave me candy! See?”

He holds out his hand, uncurling it. I’jela looks at the tiny red sugar crystals sticking to his fingers. She shakes her head, gently brushing them off and to the ground. Kael gives a little squeak of dismay.

“They might make your tummy hurt, sweetheart,” she says. “And besides, just because you have not met someone who has hurt you does not mean you will not.”

He does not understand; he is staring at the ground where she has brushed his sugary treats, lip wobbling. I’jela sighs. She… has not raised a child like this before. She does not know what to do.

~*~

One day she cannot find him for over a bell. When she does see him… it is from behind a pile of jagged, crushing rocks.

And then, suddenly, losing track of him is not a concern. He clings to her wherever she goes, cries in fright when she steps out of his line of sight for more than a second. I’jela holds him close, soothes his panicked blubbering with softness and gentle words, and curses the world for being so cruel to her precious, precious son.

He did not deserve this. He is just a child.

~*~

“And what did Kava say to this?”

Kael’s face goes through a variety of expression before settling on a scrunched-up nose and pursed lips. Unsureness, then, with a healthy dose of confusion.

“He said he never liked dancing in the first place,” he replies. His voice is still high and sweet; an increasingly rare sound amongst the kits of his year. “He said that if _I_ wanted to go, I could, because ‘whatever.’ And he got mad at me for giving him a flower.”

“Hm.” I’jela makes sure her voice is neutral. She continues to brush through his hair, keeping the strokes gentle and steady. “Why did you give him a flower?”

Kael smiles at her, sweet and angelic. “I thought it was pretty!” he says. “And he liked it at the _time_ , Mamae. I do not understand…”

She hums. “Sometimes boys are hard to understand,” she agrees. Inwardly, she is not a little amused. But Kael can figure some things out for himself, she is certain. He is a smart boy, despite what most people think—he will resolve this matter before too long.

“Although not you,” she adds, tapping him on the nose with a smile. He giggles, overlarge ears wiggling, and she laughs with him.

~*~

His treatments are progressing nicely. His chest is still flat, and his voice, although still not too low, is getting scratchier and deeper in pitch. They say that she does not know what she is doing—that she should not dabble in experimental magic, but Kael trusts her, and he sits through these sessions patiently, watching her with a steady gaze.

“Even with this, I cannot say for sure what will happen,” she tells him before she begins, every time. “Your body wants to decide things for its own.”

He shrugs, not overly worried. His jawline is getting stronger and his facial markings have grown with his age, and those are not of her doing.

He trusts her.

“Kael,” she tells him one day, and the words are difficult to get out. “You… have no womb.” She has studied endless nights to be able to figure all of this out, and some nights she thinks she cannot. But she _knows_ of what she is certain of. She knows her son. “You will not be able to have children.”

He processes this, saying nothing. Then his eyes glint into a smile. “So, no bleeding then?”

It is a moment before she shakes her head with a small laugh. Of course he would jest; he wants to cheer her up. Her sweet, precious son.

Still, she wishes she knows what he is thinking. She will ask him, later, if he is willing to share his thoughts. He usually does.

~*~

“You have to channel your focus, Kael,” I’jela tells him after he has spent over half a bell with his hand stuck in the stream, unable to connect to it. “Feel its energy. Use it, join with it.”

He makes a frustrated noise. “I cannot!” he exclaims. “My hand is getting cold, and my fingers are pruning! I hate that!”

His mouth tugs downward. He really _does_ hate that, she knows. She touches his shoulder, and he withdraws his hand with a relieved sigh.

“Mayhaps magic is not your strong suit,” she muses as he dries his hand, squeezing the towel around his fingers many more times than is strictly necessary.  “Have you practiced with Kava as I suggested? You say he has been having some success with thaumaturgy, yeah?”

At the mention of Kava, Kael stops. The stream, low in tide at this time of year, gushes over, and a few onzes of water splash onto the grass.

“Kava… and I have had a… misunderstanding,” Kael words carefully. His fingers spasm a little. “He… I am not speaking to him. Anymore. Right—right now. I-I… I am sure I will later.”

Kava is Kael’s only friend in the clan. No matter the gravity of whatever they are fighting over, he will think himself forced out of necessity—out of loneliness?—to make peace.

I’jela cups her fingers around a dandelion, coaxing it to live for a few moments longer in her hands. She places it in his hair, and tells it to hold on. It does.

“You have some ability,” she tells him as he blinks at her, grip loosening on the towel. “Come then; I will teach you how to do that, at least.”

Perhaps she can find him something light green, to match his eyes. Most likely, though, he will insist on yellow. I’jela smiles to herself, and picks another dandelion.

~*~

“Mamae.” Kael’s face is tear-stained and despondent, but determined. He has grown into a fine young man; I’jela feels a strong pulse of pride through the ache in her heart.

“I have to.” His voice is shaking—his fingers, when they land on her arm, are trembling as well. “I—I-I-I have to. I-I… please, I…”

“You _do_.” I’jela’s own voice is a whisper, but still strong. She has always been strong for him, and he for her—they have made it this far with each other. “You need to do what is best for you, Kael.”

“I don’t want to _leave_ you!” His face crumples, and she pulls him into an embrace automatically, holding him close. Her eyes close once he cannot see them, and the action causes hot tears to wet her cheeks. This might be the last chance she gets to embrace her child. This might be…

It will do him no good to think like that. She draws back an arm’s length, trying to meet his gaze. The moonlight does not quite touch his face, and the black hair falling in front of it does not make it easier. But she nevertheless knows when he finally looks at her. She reaches up once he does, wipes the tears from her child’s eyes one last time.

“You deserve more than this,” she tells him, soft but firm. “An empty life is not a life at all. You are an amazing person, Kael, and every day of my life, you have done something amazing for me. Even if it as simple as merely breathing.”

She can see his eyes, now, see wet lashes flutter softly from an exhale. He does not say anything, merely looks at her.

“One day,” she whispers, “the world is going to do something amazing for you. But it cannot unless you let it, Kael. Do you understand me? You have to go and seek your happiness.”

“My happiness is with you,” he says, voice cracking, and it takes ever onze of strength I’jela possesses to not denounce it all and make him stay. “I-I… don’t care about the tribe. I don’t care about how they treat me. I love you, Mamae.”

“And I love you too, Kael.” Her smile is sad, but soft. “I will always love you, no matter what. Always. And I will always be with you.”

He bows his head. I’jela knows that his mind is already made up. His choice solidified the moment his voice stopped shaking. His words are all but fruitless, now, a parting gift.

“If I am to leave, then I will do it on my terms.” Now his tone has hardened. “Not theirs. _I_ will be the one to make this choice. And I will not limp back like a scolded kit.”

He raises his chin. “It is… it is never going to be I’kael. Never. I am not… I am not theirs. But…”

He looks away for a long moment. When he finally meets her eyes again, his are echoing with a quiet loneliness that I’jela deeply wishes she had the power to quell. But… she cannot.

“Can you say my name one last time, please?” he asks, voice tightening. “Please, Mamae. Please.”

Her fingers tighten as well, squeezing his arm. “I love you, Kael,” she says, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

He closes his eyes.

~*~

Ick. Ick ick ick ick ick.

 _Kae—_ No. He—he cannot.

Ick. Ikael.

_I’kael. Ee-kael._

Never.

Ikael.

~*~

His name is Ikael. He will start with that.


End file.
